Balance of the Mind
by catharticone
Summary: The Doctor suppressed his initial hesitation and agreed to take Rose to the planet, because seeing her happy was the most important thing...
1. Chapter 1

_**Disclaimer**: "Doctor Who" is of course the BBC's property. I'm simply borrowing…_

_**Author's note**: I'd like to leave a special thank you to Sonic Jules for inspiring this story, as well as for support and beta assistance._

* * *

Rose lounged on the jump seat flipping through a tattered atlas. Well, perhaps 'atlas' wasn't the precise word for the large book in her lap, but it was the closest one she could find. The collection of star charts, unfamiliar symbols, and faded yet still colorful photographs of various planets seemed rather like an intergalactic atlas to her.

The Doctor had been down beneath the grating for over an hour, repairing a temporal-spatial circuit. Three or four times he'd asked her for a tool or instrument, and as she'd rummaged under the console for the laser wrench she'd noticed the book. Now she entertained herself by studying the fascinating photos as he clinked and buzzed about below.

She was staring at a particularly stunning picture when he shimmied out of the pit and stationed himself before the console. She was only vaguely aware of his actions as he tapped at a few keys and studied several read-outs.

"Good as new!" he proclaimed. "Well, I say new. I really mean that it's all sorted now. I'm not sure that particular part was ever really new; I've had it for ages and ages…"

"Hhn," Rose acknowledged disinterestedly.

"What do you have there?" he asked, turning to look at the young woman whose entire posture had become studious and intently focused.

"Atlas," she replied rather absently. Her finger moved to trace the photo before her. "Here," she said dreamily. "Can we go here?"

He plucked the book from her hands, and she blinked at him in surprise.

"Hey! I was lookin' at that," she protested.

Balancing the open book in one hand, he reached for his glasses with the other. "Well, I can't very well see where you want to go with you drooling all over it like that."

"I wasn't drooling," she said with a small frown, wiping a hand across her mouth just in case.

He was looking down at the photo, brows knitting together. "Oh. Yquee-Mun 7. Nope, don't think so."

"What?"

"I said I don't think so. It wouldn't be a very good idea to go there."

Rose's mouth drooped in disappointment. "But it's so pretty! That sky, and those buildings, all twisty an' graceful—"

He nodded. "It's gorgeous, like nothing else you'll ever see."

"But lemme guess, it's dangerous, right? There's some weird creature lurking in the treetops, or some law against blondes an' I'll be tossed into a pit with a monster."

"No, nothing like that."

"Then what's the problem?"

"They're just a bit… racist."

"Racist? So they do have somethin' against blondes—"

"Nope. More likely brunettes," he tugged at his ear, "though I suppose hair color doesn't really matter to them."

"You're not makin' any sense," she chided gently.

He sighed and handed the book back to her. "Their people never much liked my people."

"When was this?"

"Oh, ages—eons—ago. Back when my people oversaw the laws of time and space. There was this little disagreement over the use of a temporal accelerator that the Yquee-Muns were developing. At that time, those kinds of devices weren't permitted by any but the Time Lords, so we had to step in, delete the technology—"

"Delete the technology? What's that mean?"

"Bit of memory mumbo-jumbo among the scientists… nothing to cause permanent harm, just enough to prevent them from recreating the device."

"Weren't too happy about that, were they?"

"No, not at all. And since then, my people were less than welcome there."

"But you said it was ages—eons—ago. They can't still be mad after all this time."

He shrugged. "Who knows? I've never been back… none of my people ever were after that incident with the acid-mud mobs."

Rose lifted an eyebrow quizzically, but he simply shook his head. Reluctantly, she set the book aside.

* * *

They'd been back from the parallel universe just a little while. He'd tried to be extra cheerful to buoy Rose's spirits, but he knew that she missed Mickey. She put up a good front, smiling a bit too broadly, laughing a little too loudly, and adding a spring to her step. But he could see the traces of dark circles beneath her eyes, and the rosy glow had faded from her skin.

He knew that she'd rally in time, but the Doctor hated seeing Rose morose. He took her to the seashore on Mermarra for a ride in the giant seahorse-driven boats, but the grin she plastered across her face told him that it was for his benefit alone. He offered her pastries from Pluverius, but she simply picked at the delicate layers of dough. He showed her the flower fields of Phigarous, and her eyes filled with tears. How was he to know that once Mickey had given her flowers resembling those lilies that covered the leas?

One day the atlas slid from beneath the console during a slightly rough landing. The pages flopped open, and Rose bent to retrieve the book. When she held it out to him, she was smiling—a genuine, joyful smile.

He grinned in response, until he saw the page that had enthralled her. Of course it was Yquee-Mun 7.

"Rose," he said softly, reaching for the book.

She looked up, and her smile faded. "Sorry," she muttered.

"No," he said, "don't be. It's a spectacular place. The pictures would captivate anyone, and the actual planet—well, it's almost beyond words."

"That's sayin' somethin', comin' from you."

He studied the photos for a few moments then glanced back at her face; she'd quickly become glum again. "You know," he said rather slowly, "it really has been a long time since I was there. And if we landed well into the future—but not so far that the architecture would've changed—I'm sure no one would have any memory of the Time Lords."

"You sure it wouldn't be dangerous?"

"Not in the least." He smiled at her then added, "Well, it might not be a bad idea to park the TARDIS somewhere unobtrusive, and I'd prefer it if you didn't mention the words 'Time Lord' to anyone. But I'm sure it'll be fine."

"Really?" Her face lit up, and her cheeks glowed pink with excitement.

"Absolutely."

He spun back to the console and began the sequence. His hand shook just a little as he tapped at keys and twisted the dials, but he made sure that Rose didn't see. It wasn't that he was scared per se; it was just that his people had always had an aversion to the Yquee-Muns. He likened it to most humans' distaste for insects as a part of their diet. The small critters were actually a wonderful source of nutrition, but the majority of humans, particularly those from Western cultures, would cringe at the thought of ingesting one. Well, he'd make Yquee-Mun 7 his own personal grub and gobble it up without so much as a burp. It was the least he could do for Rose.


	2. Chapter 2

The TARDIS was tucked away behind a thick copse of trees. The rather remote location meant that the two time travelers had to walk some small distance to reach the nearest city, but Rose's energy had returned in full the moment she'd glimpsed the twisting turrets rising up against the turquoise sky. She fairly bounded down the hill. Her enthusiasm was rather contagious, and the Doctor found his initial hesitation fading away. By the time they reached the edge of the city, he was smiling and eager to walk through the winding, colorful streets.

The day was warm—hot, in fact—and Rose was flushed with more than excitement as they entered the city. Still, she appeared unperturbed. Indeed, she was downright ebullient, chattering on about the sights and sounds and lovely, sweet smells that permeated the very air.

She bounced from stall to stall in the open-air marketplace, admiring the beautiful pottery, jewelry, baskets, and other fine crafts. The Doctor kept at her side, almost permitting himself to share in her joy. Still, he felt just a bit wary, and his eyes moved from the wares to the many people passing by with some frequency. Several times he thought he felt a gaze upon him, but he couldn't catch more than a passing glance when he turned around.

Rose's attention was fixed on the merchandise for some time. When they'd finally strolled the length of the promenade, they found themselves near a spectacular park. Massive trees with feathery, pale leaves formed a delicate canopy overhead. Rose was drawn instinctively to the shade they provided; the warmth of the day had left her skin sticky and strands of hair plastered to her forehead.

There was a pretty fountain several yards away. Water danced in multiple arcs, leaving a find mist all around. She began to walk toward it. As she did, the Doctor turned around, once again sensing a stare. A man slipped behind one of the largest trees, a bit of his long tunic flapping in the gentle breeze as he disappeared amid the leaves and low branches.

"Rose, stay here for a minute," he said, already heading toward the massive tree.

She was close to the fountain, holding out her hands to the cooling mist. "'Kay," she called back.

He made his way toward the wall of leaves, parting them as he stepped through. There was no one in sight, just a small gaggle of birds resembling geese. They honked inquisitively at him then returned to their all-important task of pecking away at some crumbs upon the ground.

"Who left those for you?" he asked.

The nearest bird bobbed its head at him but did not appear inclined to respond.

* * *

Rose sat on the edge of the fountain running a hand over her hair. She'd left it loose today, and it was clinging to her face in the dampness of the heat and mist. She hadn't realized how warm she felt until she'd sat down. She closed her eyes for a moment. Pretty as the sunlight was, it was awfully bright.

"Warm day, isn't it?"

She opened her eyes to see a woman standing nearby.

She was a bit taller than Rose, with beautiful, auburn hair flowing beneath the brim of her delicately woven hat. An aqua and silver tunic flowed to her knees; it complimented her pale green eyes and slender, well-proportioned figure. She smiled amiably and added, "Maybe a bit too much, yes?"

"Yeah, maybe," Rose agreed, gathering her hair up in her hand to sweep it away from her neck.

"It hasn't been this hot in ages," the woman informed her. "The meteorologists say the heat wave won't last much longer, thank goodness."

Rose nodded. "Still, the city's beautiful."

The woman smiled. "We like to think so. You're visiting?"

Rose began to nod again before recalling the Doctor's words of caution. Maybe it was best to change the subject. "I love your hat," she said instead of replying to the question.

The woman touched the brim. "Oh, thank you!"

"Probably should've thought to put one on before comin' out here today," Rose said conversationally.

"You do look like you've caught the sun," the woman said with a small frown of concern. She reached for her hat and removed it. "Here, take this."

"Oh," Rose responded, "I couldn't. It looks expensive."

The woman laughed. "It wasn't at all. I get them wholesale. You might have passed my booth on the promenade."

"You sell them?"

The woman nodded.

"How much?"

"Really, you can have it. I have a dozen more just like it. But if anyone asks where you got it—and they will, trust me, because really this is one of my most popular designs—just be sure you tell them it came from Millinery Milieu."

She handed the hat to Rose, who took it hesitantly. "You sure?" she asked. Truth be told, she hadn't thought to get any local currency from the Doctor, assuming he even had any.

"Absolutely! Try it on."

Rose complied, and the woman smiled broadly. "That is just lovely on you! It suits your coloring perfectly!"

Rose felt cooler already. "It's great," she said.

The woman turned and began walking away. "Remember, Millinery Milieu, number 432 on the promenade."

"I won't forget!" Rose called after her.

She sat down again and enjoyed the cooling mist while she waited for the Doctor to return.

* * *

The geese had been no help at all, unless one counted their amusing way of waddling about, which had given the Doctor a few chuckles. He watched them for a minute or two then searched about the area, but he found no one else around.

He made his way back to Rose, pleased to find her still sitting by the fountain. For once she hadn't wandered off. As he approached her, he pointed to her head and said, "Where'd you get that?"

"Some woman who owns a hat shop on the promenade gave it to me. She said it was good advertising."

He studied the item for a moment then nodded. "Should do." He pressed a finger gently over her cheek. "You've got a bit of a sunburn; best to protect your face while we're here. Ozone's thicker here than on Earth, of course, but the sun's still not very good for your skin."

"Wrinkles an' all that," Rose finished.

They strolled around the park for a few minutes, but then the Doctor had that odd sense of being watched again. He caught a glimpse of a figure through the thick trees, but he couldn't be sure that it wasn't just another pedestrian enjoying a constitutional.

Still, he began to feel wary. After another half hour, he asked Rose if she was ready to return to the TARDIS.

"Already?" she asked. "Thought maybe we could get somethin' to eat. Food smelled really good back on the promenade."

The Doctor patted at his pockets. "Sorry, Rose, but I don't have any money with me." Recalling her less than enthusiastic appetite over the last week or so, he asked, "Are you hungry?"

"Starvin'!" she replied.

He couldn't deny her; he was too pleased to see the return of her hunger. "Well, perhaps they accept credit," he said.

Indeed the ice cream vendor happily provided them with two huge sundaes—caramel and nuts for Rose, chocolate with bananas for the Doctor—when offered the wallet with the psychic paper. They strolled along the promenade as they ate.

When they reached the end of the shops, they were near the edge of the city where they'd entered upon arrival on the planet. Both had finished their ice cream; he found a recycling bin and tossed the plastic bowls. As he dropped the small containers into the bin, he again had that distinct sense of eyes upon him.

He waited a few seconds then turned abruptly. Rose stood a couple of yards way with her hand on her head. A hand-holding couple walked along several yards behind her, but there was no one else about. When he returned to Rose, her hand was still upon her head. She was rubbing at her temple.

"Something wrong?" he asked her.

"Ice cream headache," she informed him.

"Excuse me?"

"Ice cream headache," she repeated. "Y'know, that weird little pain you get if you eat ice cream too fast?"

He shook his head. "Never heard of it."

"An' you say you've spent a lot of time with humans!"

"Maybe not enough of it eating ice cream," he replied.

She dropped her hand and grinned at him. "Think there's a way to fix that."

"Yeah?" he smiled briefly. "But not today. It's time we headed back to the TARDIS."

She watched him closely for a moment. "You still feel uncomfortable here?"

"No," he began, but her expression conveyed understanding and sympathy, so he amended, "just a bit."

She reached for his hand. "Thanks for bringin' me. I really appreciate it, an' I hope it wasn't too awful for you."

"No, Rose, I enjoyed it."

They walked back to the ship hand in hand. When they stepped inside, the Doctor pointed to the hat stand near the door. "Haven't used that in a while," he commented.

Rose reached for her new hat and pulled it off. However, it snagged in her hair, tugging painfully against her scalp for a moment until she wriggled it a bit and the hair slipped free. She removed it and hung it on the rack.

"Oh," she said with a bit of disappointment. "I meant to stop at that woman's booth an' thank her again. It must've been down one of the other alleys—don't think we passed by it."

The Doctor was already preoccupied at the console. He was obviously eager to get away. She walked up the ramp and leaned over to watch his hands as they moved over the levers and dials. Her own hand snaked up, fingers reaching for a nearby dial. He was busy with a button to her left and didn't notice her. Rose blinked sharply. What the hell was she doing?

Abruptly she sniffed. Her nose was suddenly running. She wiped a hand over it. "Oh!" she exclaimed when she saw the streak of blood across her palm.

The Doctor turned to stare at her. "Rose—" His eyes widened. "You're bleeding!"

She pressed her hand over her nose. "Sorry."

He led her to the jump seat and gently pushed her down as he reached into a pocket. He produced a handkerchief and moved her hand away from her nose, replacing it with his clean, while hanky. "Put your head back," he instructed.

Rose complied. He held the cloth firmly in place for perhaps thirty seconds before asking, "What happened?"

"Dunno," she replied, voice slightly altered from the fingers clamped over her nose. "Nosebleed, I s'pose. Used to get 'em sometimes as a kid but haven't had one in years."

He produced the sonic screwdriver and switched it on, moving aside the hanky to aim it right up inside her nose. Rose felt a few light pulses then a mild heat. When he moved his hand away, she reached up to feel that the bleeding had stopped.

"Thanks," she said, beginning to stand.

"Not so fast," he cautioned, putting a hand upon her shoulder. He quickly readjusted the settings on the screwdriver and held it over her nose again.

"What're you doin'?" she asked. "It's not bleedin' any more."

"Just checking to be sure everything's all right," he replied, squinting for a moment at the instrument's blinking lights.

"And?" she prompted.

"Looks okay. No sign of injury or vascular damage. Probably just the atmosphere there—it's a little thinner than you're used to."

She nodded then stood up. "'S that why I got so sunburned?" she asked, patting at her cheek. The delicate skin was beginning to sting.

"Atmosphere's thinner, but the ozone's thicker, so the sun shouldn't affect you as strongly as it would on Earth." He glanced back at her; he'd returned to the console to complete the dematerialisation sequence. "But it was a warm day."

The TARDIS jolted rather violently, and Rose grabbed the edge of the jump seat to keep from falling. After several seconds of considerable shuddering, the ship stabilised.

"Here we are," the Doctor said, straightening up as he released his hold on the console.

"Where are we now?" she asked.

"No idea. Care to have a look?"

Rose shook her head. "Can it wait a few minutes? I wanna get cleaned up." She rubbed her hand her over lip. It felt scratchy from the dried blood.

He glanced at her. "Right. Have a look in the back of your medicine cabinet, too. Should be some cream there that'll help with the sunburn and prevent any additional burning."

"Thanks," Rose replied, already half-way to the door.

"Don't take too long!" he cautioned amiably. "Who knows what surprises are out there?"

"Can't wait," she said as she disappeared into the corridor.


	3. Chapter 3

3

Fifteen minutes later Rose and the Doctor emerged from the TARDIS into a chilly, grey landscape.

"Looks like I won't need my new hat," she commented, closing the door.

"Nope," he responded. "Well, I suppose it can't always be springtime everywhere." He was looking out over the countryside.

The area was lightly forested, with gently rolling hills. In more pleasant weather, it would have provided a pretty vista. Some small distance away a cluster of buildings was visible. Smoke rose from most.

"Looks like a village," he said.

Rose's eyes, however, were on a group of trees about twenty yards away. "Doctor," she said slowly, keeping her voice low, "what the hell is that?" Moving closer to him, she pointed with one hand and slipped the other arm around him.

He followed her gesture with his gaze. "What?" he asked.

"I saw somethin'," she said, "somethin' big an', I think, scaly."

"Big and scaly? How big and how scaly?"

"Big big, and scaly scaly," she replied.

He glanced at her with a small shake of his head. "As in dragon big and dragon scaly?" he asked.

"Yeah, I think so. Didn't you see it?"

He returned his attention to the trees. "No."

"It was right there," she pointed again. "Between that really tall tree an' the shorter one."

He squinted for a few moments then turned his head to look at her. "You sure it wasn't just a shadow?"

She squeaked, "There! It's right there!"

He whipped his head around, but all he saw was the expanse of trees. "Where, Rose?"

"Sixth tree from the end… I saw its tail."

He glanced back at her. Her expression showed trepidation. "Wait here," he told her, "beside the TARDIS. I'll go have a look."

"But Doctor, if it's a dragon you won't be safe," she protested.

"Oh ye of little faith," he said with a small grin. He pulled out the sonic screwdriver. "Do you have any idea what high frequency emissions do to a giant reptilian's senses? Two or three seconds and," he snapped his fingers, "instant swoon, gliding right to the ground in a dead faint—out for at least fifteen minutes until the brain reboots."

Still she appeared uncertain. "But what if it's not a dragon?"

"Gloomy forest, medieval village—what else could it possibly be?" He winked at her then began to hurry toward the trees. "Be right back!" he called.

Rose watched him for a minute then took a few steps back toward the TARDIS. She thrust her hands into her pockets, feet shuffling restlessly and carrying her past the ship and down the hill behind it.

* * *

The forest was quiet, and a quick scan for life forms revealed only the usual assortment of small mammals and birds. The Doctor had to admit that he was a touch disappointed; he hadn't seen a dragon in ages. Oh, to ride through the skies upon the majestic beast's back, feeling the great, leathery wings pumping and the wind whooshing through his hair… It had been a very long time since he'd done that.

The Time Lord sighed and made his way out of the woods. In the distance he could see Rose sitting with her back to the TARDIS. He trotted up the hill toward her.

"No sign of any dragons," he told her.

She had wrapped her arms around herself, obviously chilled in the sharp breeze. "No?" she looked up but did not rise. "I could swear I saw somethin'…"

"Probably just a passing shadow." He extended his hand to her to help her to her feet then reached for the door handle. He pulled, but the door didn't budge. "Did you lock it?" he asked.

"Hmm?" Rose was gazing back at the forest.

"The TARDIS. Did you lock the door when we left?"

"S'pose so," she replied languidly.

He reached into his pocket, hand searching the depths as his brow creased. He withdrew his empty hand and tried another pocket. "Where's my key?" he muttered.

"Here, use mine," Rose said. She lifted a hand to her neck, feeling for the chain from which the key hung. She began to frown, too, finally resorting to peeking down the neck of her shirt. "It's not here," she uttered.

The Doctor was patting at all of his pockets now, hands dipping inside.

"Doctor?" she asked almost cautiously. "Where's yours?"

"It's got to be here someplace," he said. After five minutes of vigorous searching, he had to admit defeat. "But you used yours to lock the door," he reminded her. "You must have it somewhere."

Rose, of course, had made a thorough search of her person, checking all pockets (unlikely as that was, since she always kept the key on a chain around her neck, but still…), patting down both legs, and even turning away for a few seconds to unzip her jeans and make a quick exploration underneath. The key was noticeably absent.

"It's not here," she replied, her voice a strange mix of confusion and apology. "Chain must've broken—it must've fallen." She was already walking about, eyes roaming over the ground.

"Did you check everywhere?" the Doctor asked, one hand absently reaching out to pat at the back pocket of her jeans.

She spun around to arch an eyebrow at him. "Yeah, I did!"

He pulled his hand away. "Oh, of course. Sorry."

"It must've fallen off," she repeated firmly, returning to her visual search of the surrounding area.

He joined her, adding to the process by scanning with the sonic screwdriver. "Metal detector function," he told her. But the instrument failed to uncover anything. "You didn't move away from here?" he asked her.

"No, 'course not," she answered. "I just sat beside the TARDIS, tryin' to keep out of the wind."

Said weather phenomenon was increasing in intensity, and a light drizzle had joined in to make the late afternoon chilly and damp. Rose shivered and rubbed at her arms. The Doctor removed his overcoat and slipped it over her shoulders.

"Thanks," she said.

He was looking up at the sky. "Looks like it could snow," he informed her. "And it'll be dark soon. Feel like exploring the local village?"

"But we have to find the keys," she protested.

"We aren't going to have any luck in the dark. I can make a couple of modifications to the sonic screwdriver that should help make it more sensitive, but it'll take a little time. We'll come back first thing in the morning. The TARDIS is locked, so no one's getting in."

Rose shrugged. "S'pose it beats standin' out here in the rain an' wind."

They began to walk, wind buffeting them with increasing ferocity. Rose was huddled inside the Doctor's coat, and he kept her hand in his. She was chilled, her skin cooler than his. Of course external conditions didn't affect him as they did a human.

They had made it about half way to the village when Rose sniffed and pressed a hand over her nose. He glanced down at her.

"Cold making your nose run?" he asked, reaching into his jacket for a handkerchief. He always seemed to have a good stock of the small cloths.

She nodded and reached for the proffered item. She stopped walking. "Crap," she muttered, "not again."

Her fingers were slicked with crimson. She quickly pulled the hanky from his hand and held it over her nose.

The Time Lord turned her around so that the wind was at her back. Then he

put an arm around her shoulders and encouraged her to tilt her head back with a gentle hand at her brow.

They waited perhaps about thirty seconds, then he lowered her hand to see that the blood was still trickling from her nose. "Let's give it another minute or so," he said.

"Or you could just do that thing with the sonic screwdriver," she suggested rather nasally.

"I could, but then I wouldn't know what your body is doing on its own."

She gave him a baleful look in reply.

He smiled reassuringly and wrapped his arm about her a little tighter. He counted to sixty then moved the handkerchief again. "Ah, there we go! Your lovely clotting response kicked in just as it should and stopped the bleeding on its own."

"Don't think I've ever heard 'lovely' and 'clotting' used in the same sentence before," Rose muttered, trying to find a clean corner of the kerchief with which to wipe beneath her nose.

The Doctor took the small cloth from her and used an edge to dab at the remnants of blood. "Well, you obviously haven't been hanging around the right sort of people—the sort who appreciate the complex inner workings of the human body. Of course, they aren't nearly as complex as the workings of my body, but still, you have to be at least a little bit impressed—"

Rose sighed then shivered. "If you say so."

"Oh, I do! The human body is quite wonderful."

"Would be a little more wonderful if it weren't feelin' quite so cold just now," Rose said miserably.

"Right. Off to the village, then. We'll find a cozy inn and have some nice, hot tea and maybe a bowl of stew. Ooh, I love a good vegetable stew with lots of potatoes, carrots, and those little tiny onions."

They walked quickly, both anxious to reach the small community. Rose simply wanted to get out of the cold. The Doctor, too, wished to see her in a warmer environment. It was probably—very likely—almost certain—that the wind had caused her nosebleed. The delicate tissue and capillaries probably hadn't quite recovered fully from the thin atmosphere on Yquee-Mun 7; the drying effects of the wind had only irritated them again. But even so, she needed to be inside, in a warm, safe atmosphere where he could keep a close eye on her.


	4. Chapter 4

The snow began to fall just as the Doctor and Rose entered the village. All traces of daylight had vanished, too; lanterns glowed softly outside most of the buildings, providing sufficient illumination to find their way along the narrow streets.

A few people hurried by, bundled up against the cold. The Doctor asked one where he might find the inn, and the man pointed to his right, murmuring, "Better hurry; storm's gonna be a bad one."

Rose was shivering, and snow clung to her hair and cheeks. The Time Lord wrapped his arm about her more tightly and led her in the indicated direction. They found the inn down a small, cobbled alley. He pushed open the door, ushering her inside.

The interior was dim but warm; a fire glowed in the hearth. Several tables lined with benches clustered in the small common room, but most were empty. Two men sat at the table nearest the fire nursing large mugs. They offered the newcomers cursory smiles then returned to their beverages.

The Doctor steered Rose toward the hearth, where she sank down gratefully upon a bench. He pulled his coat away from her shoulders and hung it on a hook near the fireplace to dry.

"Is the innkeeper about?" he asked the other patrons.

"Back there," replied one, gesturing toward an open doorway.

"Right," the Doctor responded. "I'll just pop in and see if I can get a couple of hot drinks for us," he told Rose.

She nodded, rubbing her hands in front of the flame. "Doc—tor," she stammered through chattering teeth, just as he was turning away. "D'you—think—I—could have—your jacket? 'M still—cold."

"It's damp from the snow," he said. "Nice hot drink'll warm you right up, though."

He turned around again.

"Doc—tor," she said, managing a reproving tone despite her halting speech. "You'll—catch your—death—if you leave that—damp jacket on."

"Oh." He looked down at the sodden garment. "Right." He shrugged out of it and hung it next to his overcoat. "Back in a sec."

He sauntered through the doorway to find a spacious kitchen. A sturdy woman was stirring an iron pot hanging over the open hearth.

"Ooh, that smells good!" the Doctor enthused. "Does it have those tiny little onions in it?"

The woman straightened and turned to look at him. Her gaze raked over his attire critically. "Do you need a room?"

He nodded. "A couple of hot drinks, too. And some of that stew as soon as it's ready."

She offered him a half smile. "That'll be another half hour yet. But I'll prepare the drinks." She glanced out the small window; it was already icy, and snow was piling up against the thick pane. "Looks like you arrived just in time. It's no night to be traveling."

"No," he agreed. A plate of cookies sat on the work table. He reached for one automatically.

The woman frowned at him.

"Oh, sorry," he murmured, setting the cookie back on the pile.

Her expression softened, and she chuckled. "Go ahead. I was going to take them out to the others anyway."

"Oh," the Doctor said brightly, "allow me!"

He took the plate back to the common room, offering the other two patrons a sample before setting the dish on the table nearest Rose. He plopped down next to her and devoured three cookies in a row.

"Mmm," he mumbled around crumbs, "sooo good. Love the bits of dried fruit. Raisins, d'you think?"

Rose smiled and shook her head. She'd nibbled a single edge in the time he'd taken to down three of the crisp morsels. "Hungry, are you?"

"Starving! It's the cold weather. Uses up a lot more energy, so that has to be replenished somehow. Well, I say replenished. It's not so much refueling as stoking the fires, because really I can go for a long time without food if I need to."

"'Course you can."

The innkeeper brought out two steaming pewter mugs and set them before her newest guests. "Stew'll be done in a little while," she said, eyes flicking to the plate and then to the bits of cookie scattered over the Doctor's legs. "Do you think you can wait until then?"

The Time Lord nodded. "You've managed to tide us over." He swept a hand toward the cookies. "But only just." He bent to take a rather loud sniff of his drink. "Cider?"

"Yes," the woman replied. "Warm you through and through."

Rose lifted her tankard and took a sip. "Ahh," she purred, closing her eyes for a moment, "perfect."

By the time she'd consumed the drink, her cheeks were glowing pinkly in the sprightly firelight. She wasn't shivering or stuttering anymore, either; far from it, in fact. Her speech was relaxed, and her body loose.

"'M gonna find the loo," she said cheerfully, draining the last drops of the cider from her mug. She stood and shambled out of the room.

Her gait seemed a little odd. It took the Doctor a few moments to realize that the cider was of the hard variety, and that his young companion was a bit tipsy.

When she returned, she began chatting with the other two guests, quickly discovering that they were travelers, too, albeit not of the time hopping variety. They reported that the storm had followed them from the east. They'd been glad to make it to the village before the onslaught; other travelers had told them that it was the worst snowstorm they could recall in many years.

By the time the stew arrived, the windows were completely blanketed with snow. Icy drafts swept in beneath the door, leaving the room cold and the inhabitants huddled close to the fire. The innkeeper apologized for the delay in bringing the food, explaining that she'd needed to secure a couple of exterior doors against the building storm. Her reddened cheeks and damp hair attested to her short foray outside.

Rose leaned over to the Doctor and said softly, "I really miss central heating at times like this."

He nudged her in the ribs gently, reminding her that this was not the best place to discuss anachronisms. She made a zipping motion with her fingers then reached rather surreptitiously for his tankard while she thought he was watching the matron go.

When the bowls and cookie plate were empty, the Doctor gathered the dishes and walked toward the kitchen. Rose raised a lazy eyebrow at his sudden domesticity , then she grinned and said with a little giggle, "Oh, I get it. Might be more cookies in there."

"Just trying to be helpful," he retorted. But if there did happen to be another tray of the tasty treats, well, he supposed that would be all right too.

He left the dishes on the work table, only mildly disappointed that the innkeeper apparently hadn't found the time to bake any more goodies. She was nowhere in sight, so, after a brief search of the cabinets in case another plate of cookies had been tucked away, he returned to the common room.

The two men were smiling in mild amusement, their gazes fixed on Rose. She had rested her head on her arms and was now slumped over the table snoring softly.

"Looks like your wife enjoys her cider," one said jovially.

"Oh, she's not my—" the Doctor began, then thought better of his words. "I mean, she's not used to hard cider." He rested a hand on her head. "Suppose I'd better take her upstairs."

He pulled her up, looping her arm around his shoulder. She stirred into semi-wakefulness as he walked her up the narrow stairs. The innkeeper was just leaving a room as they got to the landing. Rose roused and opened her eyes blearily.

"This one'll be yours," said the woman. "I've left a warming pan in the bed."

"Thank you," the Doctor acknowledged, pulling Rose along to the room. He eased her down onto the bed and pulled back the covers.

She blinked up at him. "This the room?" she asked.

"Yep."

"There's only one bed," she observed with the unique brand of bleary astuteness borne of mild inebriation. She patted at the rather hard mattress. "Where're you gonna sleep?"

"Oh," he replied quickly, "I wasn't planning on sleeping. I need to work on the sonic screwdriver." He patted his vest. "Left it in my jacket," he murmured.

Rose sighed sleepily. "'F you get tired, you can sleep here with me. 'S plenny of room."

He coughed lightly. "Well, I'm sure I'll be up most of the night. You get a good rest, and I'll see you in the morning." He blew out the candle in the sconce beside the door.

"Where're you gonna be?"

"Downstairs. I'll need some light." He slipped out the door before she could respond.

Rose kicked off her shoes and unbuttoned her jeans, then decided to leave them on. It was quite cold in the room, and if the Doctor decided to share the bed, she thought it best to remain dressed. She slid her legs between the sheets to find the foot of the bed toasty. She tucked the covers tightly around her neck and had just drifted off to sleep when the door swung open and the Doctor stepped inside, light flooding the room. He carried a candle in one hand, and his overcoat was draped over his arm. He'd donned his jacket again.

"Rose!" he said, and she thought his voice was a little too loud.

"Wha'd'you want?" She was tempted to pull the covers over her head completely.

"I can't find my sonic screwdriver," he said, tone modulating slightly. He had dropped to his knees to peer under the bed. The candleholder hovered in his hand.

"It's in your jacket," she replied sleepily.

"No, it's not. I checked—twice. It's not in my coat, either. I looked all over downstairs, and on the stairs, too."

"Must be here somewhere," she said, feeling more alert now. There was a dull ache behind her eyes, and she wondered just how strong the cider was. She sat up with an audible sigh, rubbing at her forehead.

"It's not here," he said, standing up just long enough to plop down beside her on the bed. He set the candle on the small night table.

"'S gotta be. Did you check the kitchen?"

"Yes. No sign of it there. No more cookies, either."

"Did you ask the landlady?"

"She hasn't seen it. The other two guests have already gone to their rooms."

"S'pose one of 'em could've picked it up," she said.

"If it had fallen out of my jacket, but I'm sure I'd have heard it." He turned to face her. "Did you see either of them near my jacket?"

She arched an eyebrow curiously. "You think one of 'em took it?"

He shrugged. "I don't know what else could have happened to it."

"Maybe it fell out while we were walkin' here."

"Maybe. But think, Rose. Try to remember if either of them got up while I was out of the room."

She tried to recall, but the effort made her head throb more insistently. Her nose began to tickle, too. She rubbed at it with the back of her hand.

"Oh Rose," the Doctor said, leaning in toward her, "again?"

It took her a moment to process what he was saying. It was the warm wetness against her hand that finally jogged her sluggish memory. She lowered her hand just long enough to see the smear of blood. She clapped it over her nose quickly.

The Doctor was out of handkerchiefs, but a clean rag lay next to the pitcher and bowl that served as a wash basin. He reached for the cloth then moved her hand aside to press his own over her nose.

"Head back," he reminded her.

"Yeah, I know," she replied wearily.

His brow was furrowed tightly as he held the cloth over her nose. He waited a full minute before lifting it away. The bleeding had not stopped. "Little longer," he uttered softly, replacing the cloth.

"If one of them did take the sonic screwdriver," the Doctor said, mostly to have something to occupy his and Rose's minds for a few seconds, "they might've thought it was something valuable. They probably wouldn't know what to do with it—might switch it on accidentally, but unless they set it, it won't do much except hum. 'Course they might inadvertently set it on 345 or 21 or 982, and that would be… oh, that just wouldn't be good."

Rose reached up to nudge at his hand. He shifted the cloth again, relieved to find the nosebleed resolved.

"Looks okay now," he told her, standing to dip an edge of the rag into the pitcher. He wiped away the blood from her face. When he had finished, he moved the candle closer then leaned in to study her eyes.

"What're you doin'?" she asked.

He took her face in his hands and pressed his thumbs lightly on either side of her nose. "That hurt?"

"No, not really."

He moved on to her forehead. She winced.

"That did," she informed her with just a hint of tetchiness.

"Sorry." He dropped his hands. His expression remained tight.

"'S okay," she said. "When I was a kid, the nosebleeds'd almost always happen in threes, usually one not too long after the first one, then another a couple of hours later."

"Really?"

She nodded. "Yeah, seemed like the usual pattern. This was the probably the last one."

"Still, I'd like to do a more thorough scan, but I need the sonic screwdriver for that," he said. "So, finding it's the first order of business." He stood and offered her a perfunctory smile.

"Doctor, I'm all right. Really."

"Oh, I'm sure you are, but it never hurts to err on the side of caution. So I'll just make a quick inquiry to our new friends and be right back, hopefully screwdriver in hand."

Rose scowled. "But if one of 'em—or both of 'em—took it, they might be dangerous. Maybe they're some sorta highwaymen or somethin'."

"They didn't strike me as the sort. At worst they're petty thieves just taking an easy opportunity for a quick buck or pound or rupee, or whatever the currency is here. I'll be right back."

He stepped out the door before Rose could protest. And she wanted to; she really did, because she had a bad feeling about the situation. She couldn't articulate it, but the thought of the Doctor questioning those men about his sonic screwdriver made her head feel funny. The throbbing became more persistent.

She could hear muffled voices at the end of the hallway. She debated getting out of bed in case the Time Lord needed her help. The men could have weapons—knives or daggers, or maybe this culture even had some kind of flintlock or other early gun…

She was just sliding out from the warm cocoon of covers when the Doctor returned to the room.

"Well?" she asked.

"They said they haven't seen it. I'm inclined to believe them."

"An' why's that? We've been lied to a lot of times before."

"True. But do you know what they were doing when I knocked on their door?"

She shook her head.

"Praying. They're both clerics traveling to a village about sixty miles from here to begin a new church."

"Maybe that was just a ruse."

"No, I don't think so. I'm afraid I interrupted their worship. They were right in the midst of it. Are you familiar with the Orthodox Jewish custom involving wrapping special straps around one's body during prayer?"

"No."

"Oh. Well, the straps are called tefillin; they attach a special leather box to the wrist and another to the forehead. But that's a lesson for another time. Anyway, our two fellow travelers were similarly engaged when I entered their room. The custom was a little different than that in Judaism, but it was fairly clear what they were doing."

"So they definitely didn't take the sonic screwdriver."

"No, I'm quite sure of it. Nice fellows, by the way—names are Taman and Frull."

"Yeah? Anyway, screwdriver's gotta be somewhere between here an' the TARDIS. We'll find it tomorrow."

"Yes." He paced from the door to the bed and back again. The room was too small for any other significant movements.

"Are you gonna do that all night long?" she asked.

"Hmm? Do what?"

She motioned back and forth with her hand. "That."

He stopped moving. "Oh. No, I suppose not." He stood with dangling arms.

Rose pulled the blankets up again. "If you wanna lie down, go ahead. But I'm not gonna be able to sleep with you just standin' there."

He walked the few steps to the bed and leaned over her. "Do you want me to stay?"

"Don't really care." She rubbed at her forehead again. "I just wanna go to sleep."

"Does your head hurt?"

She sighed tiredly. "Think we already established that before, when you were pokin' around."

"Oh. Right."

"'S jus' the cider… It was pretty strong. That sorta thing always gives me a headache."

He nodded then offered her a small grin. "You didn't have to drink the entire thing—and a few sips of mine, too. Yes, I was aware that you did that."

"Sorry. I was jus' really cold, an' it was so nice an' warm." She yawned.

"I'll be downstairs," he said, walking back to the door. "I'll have another look around, just in case."

"You're not gonna sleep at all?"

"Probably not."

Rose's eyes were closing of their own volition. "Suit yourself," she murmured. And then she drifted into oblivion.


	5. Chapter 5

A thorough search of the common room, the kitchen, the staircase, and even a few nooks and crannies where a screwdriver could roll yielded nothing other than an encounter with a small mouse, and left the Doctor increasingly frustrated and perplexed. He'd had the instrument when they entered the inn, hadn't he? He was certain that it had been tucked in his jacket pocket, where he usually kept it. He remembered replacing it after he'd scanned around the TARDIS for the keys. He'd felt its weight against his chest as he'd held the cloth over Rose's nose while they were walking, too. He knew that because he'd debated for a few moments whether to stop the bleeding again. He'd decided to wait and see how quickly her body would respond with clotting factor, just to be sure she was producing enough.

He supposed it was possible that the device had somehow fallen out as they were walking, but that seemed unlikely. Still, he'd had an arm around Rose, and perhaps somehow his jacket had pulled to the side, permitting the screwdriver to slip out.

Well, there was nothing for it now. Obviously the instrument wasn't here at the inn, so he'd just have to wait until morning to retrace his steps and search outside. He sat before the dying fire in the hearth, watching the embers glow softly against the cold and darkness.

He'd had a run of little losses lately, hadn't he? First his TARDIS key and Rose's, too, and now the sonic screwdriver. If he'd been on a different planet or in a different time, he might have suspected a bit of foul play, but this place was quiet and safe. He felt certain that no one here was harboring any animosity or rancor toward him.

The Doctor remained at the hearth for some time. Finally he stood and walked to the window. Snow obscured the entire surface. Cold pushed through the walls and glass. He felt grateful to be inside, in a safe, warm place, particularly for Rose's sake.

Which reminded him that he'd meant to check in on her. He'd thought she looked a little pale earlier, and despite her reassurance that the nosebleeds followed an established pattern, he thought it wise to keep an eye on her.

He made his way up the stairs and to their room. He opened the door quietly. The candle had burned itself out, or perhaps a draft had extinguished it. Either way, it was very dark and quite chilly in the small chamber. He moved to the bed with soft steps, permitting his vision to adjust so that he could see reasonably well.

Rose lay on her side, blankets pulled up to her ears. He stood beside her and allowed his hand to hover just above her cheek. She was warm enough, and her breathing pattern told him that she was slumbering deeply—undoubtedly due in part to the cider. He was just backing way when she made a small noise. It was something between a murmur and a moan.

He crouched at her side, watching her face. Her brow tightened, and he saw her jaw clench. The noise escaped her again, accompanied this time by an increase in respiration rate. Her head moved as if in a firm shake.

"Rose?" he whispered, realizing that she was in the midst of a nightmare. He rested his hand over the hair covering her temple. One shift of his fingers and nudge of his mind and he'd be able to see what was troubling her. But he didn't make a habit of that, especially when friends were concerned. Instead he settled for a few strokes of his thumb over her brow.

She murmured again, but there were no discernible words. She seemed to calm and return to unburdened sleep with a dozen or so more movements of his thumb across her forehead.

There were no chairs in the room, which was a shame, because he thought he'd like to sit with Rose for the remainder of the night. She was curled on the right side of the bed, leaving plenty of room on the left edge. He stood with a shrug then stretched out beside her. Another little sound met his ears, and then she was quiet for the rest of the night.

* * *

Rose awoke slowly. Her head ached, and her eyes felt scratchy. Her face was cold, though the rest of her body was warm enough. At first she thought it was still night; the room was quite dim, with only skeletal fingers of grey light creeping through the window. She glanced at the small pane to see it covered nearly entirely in snow.

She sat up, rubbing at her eyes and shivering as the blankets fell away. The room was utterly frigid. She wrapped the covers around her shoulders and began to lie down again, immediately deciding that it was too early and far too cold to get up.

Naturally her plan was hindered by the Doctor's appearance at the door. He strode in cheerfully, carrying a steaming mug in his hand. "Good morning!" he said. "Sleep well?"

She yawned. "Not long enough," she muttered.

He arched an eyebrow at her, and his jovial expression shifted for just a moment. "Eleven hours seems long enough to me," he replied.

She sighed and sat up again, keeping the covers around her. "Must've been tired, or maybe it was the cider." She drew up her knees and rested her aching forehead against them.

He held out the mug as he sat down beside her. "This should help a little."

Rose lifted her head and took the mug. The contents were hot but not scorching. She tried a sip. "'S good," she acknowledged. "What kind of tea is it?"

"I'm not sure; it's Ma'am's special blend."

"Ma'am?" she questioned.

"That's what she likes to be called. I asked her proper name, and she just said everyone calls her that. Don't know why she wouldn't want to tell me her name—"

"No," Rose drawled, "can't imagine anyone just usin' a title instead of a name."

"Anyway," he continued, undeterred, "she sent this up for you, and she's saved you some breakfast. The rest of us have already eaten."

She continued to sip the tea. "You could've woken me."

"I could have, but there was really no need," he said with a gentle smile. "We're snowed in for the time being, so you may as well relax and catch up on your sleep."

Rose's stomach growled. "Thanks for savin' breakfast."

He glanced down. "Sounds like you need it."

When she pulled back the covers, she was very glad she'd left her jeans and sweater on. The room felt like the inside of a freezer. She grimaced as she swung her legs over the edge of the bed. "God, it's cold."

"Yes. But there's a nice fire in the hearth downstairs." He got up with an encouraging nod.

Rose stood, intending to make a dash for the door then hurry down to the fireplace as quickly as she could. Unfortunately, her body had other ideas and decided to send a wave of dizziness over her. She swayed, instinctively reaching out to grab at the Doctor's arm to steady herself.

His hands wrapped around her shoulders and he eased her back to sit again. "You all right?" he asked, a hint of concern in his voice.

She shook her head, banishing the last of the vertigo. "Yeah, 'course."

"You looked like you were going to fall." He tilted up her chin then leaned down to study her eyes.

Rose pulled back. "Floor's really cold—thought my feet would freeze," she blurted out. She had no idea why she hadn't told him the truth. A few wondering thoughts flicked through her mind, but they made the niggling ache behind her eyes shift to a full throbbing, so she gave up the effort.

"Rose?" He'd cupped her chin again, and this time his fingertips rested against the pulse point in her neck. "What's going on?"

"Nothin'," she replied just a bit too hastily. "Just need to get warm." She pushed herself up, taking a deep, steadying breath to counter the bit of dizziness that insisted on accompanying the change in position. "Need fire," she said succinctly as she shambled to the door.

She managed to plod down the stairs without allowing herself to falter. But by the time she reached the common room, she was shivering. She walked stiffly toward the hearth, lifting her arms to embrace the welcoming heat. However, when she saw how violently her hands were shaking, she tucked them securely under her arms.

"Here, Rose," the Doctor said, and she felt a soft weight over her shoulders. He had draped a blanket around her.

"Thanks," she muttered, teeth clapping together sharply with the effort.

"I brought your shoes, too," he added, setting her trainers close to the blaze. "Let them warm up for a few minutes before you put them on."

She nodded and sank down onto the nearest bench. It had taken a rather substantial effort on her part to remain standing; between the extreme chills, headache, and dizziness, she wanted nothing more than to crawl back under the covers and sleep for another eleven hours. However, that wouldn't do. The Doctor would wonder, would perhaps think she was ill, and then he'd fuss about, and he might just find that something was really wrong… No, that wouldn't do at all. So Rose gathered her strength and sat up a little straighter and forced herself to glance about.

Taman and Frull, the other two guests, sat about ten feet away, heads bent over a large book. They looked up and offered her smiles of greeting, but they appeared preoccupied with their study and returned their gazes to the pages before them.

She was very close to the fire, and her skin grew hot, but she remained chilled inside. Slowly Rose began to feel warmer. The flames danced before her, red and orange and white, mesmerizing her momentarily. She didn't realize that the Doctor was slipping a shoe onto her foot until she sensed the increase in warmth. She looked down to see him bending before her.

"This'll warm you up in no time," he said cheerfully. "Warm feet, warm body. I'm not sure it's ever been scientifically proven, but I know it to be a fact: toasty toes and the rest will follow." He slipped the other shoe on then grinned up at her.

"Thanks," she managed, although her teeth were still threatening to chatter.

"Now, I promised you breakfast, and breakfast you shall have." He stood up and turned toward the hearth. "You're going to love what Ma'am does with cinnamon rolls! Gooey, spicy, and so, so good."

But Rose's attention had shifted from his enthusiastic words to an odd creaking sound. She looked up. "D'you hear that?" she asked.

"Hmm?" The Doctor was stoking the fire; it crackled as a log split.

Frull and Taman had directed their gazes to the ceiling, too. "The beams," one said, pointing.

Rose squinted in the dull light. Two of the heavy support beams seemed distorted, almost bowed. "What's that?"

The Time Lord left the fireplace and hurried across the room to stare upward for a few moments. "Oh," he said flatly, "that's not good."

Rose pushed herself to her feet and shuffled over to join him. "What's goin' on?"

He shook his head. "Snow's piling up on the roof—lots and lots of heavy snow."

The beams sagged with a mournful groan, and suddenly cold bits pelted Rose's cheeks. She lifted her hand to brush away the snow just as the Doctor grabbed her arm and pulled her sharply back toward the hearth.

"Look out!" he cried, pushing her to the floor and covering her body with his.

She heard a loud thump followed by an oddly soft yet heavy whoosh. Suddenly frigid air swirled all about. Her first thought was that it would extinguish the fire, and damn, she'd just gotten warm…

Her second thought was more practical, and she nudged the Doctor away to see what damage had been done. He sank back on his heels, giving her a quick glance to assure himself that she hadn't been harmed, then he joined her in a wide-eyed study of the collapsed roof.

The two clerics were pressed to the back wall, alarmed by unharmed. One held their book tightly against his chest.

The heavy beams lay broken in the pile of snow covering the floor. The roof gaped open, revealing a gray sky. Flakes of snow continued to fall, landing on the boards and snow littering the floor. Fortunately the caved-in section of roof was on the other side of the room, so aside from letting in the cold, it hadn't threatened the four inhabitants significantly.

"The kitchen," the Doctor muttered, pointing at the small mountain of debris. "It's right behind there."

"Always thinkin' about your stomach," Rose said, trying to lighten the mood.

He turned his head to give her a sharp look. "Ma'am is in there!"

"Oh—"

He hurried across the room, stopping at the newly created barricade. "Ma'am!" he called, but his words seemed to echo dully against the snowy barrier. He was moving around, attempting to assess the damage, but the frigid pile blocked his view beyond the common room. Still, a glance upward showed that a large portion of the roof had collapsed, well beyond the room in which they stood.

Taman and Frull had joined them. "Is there another door?" one asked.

"Yes," the Doctor replied, "there's an exterior door in the kitchen." His eyes moved to the area where the inn's front door had been. It was now buried beneath the snow. "Maybe I can get out from an upstairs window," he said, already moving toward the staircase.

Rose followed him. "Is it safe?" she asked. "Couldn't other parts of the roof be unstable?"

"Could be," he acknowledged, "so the sooner we get Ma'am out of here, the better."

He hurried up the stairs then dashed into a room to peer out the window. By the time Rose joined him, he was already pressing his hands over the panes. "Sonic screwdriver'd take these right out," he muttered.

"Can we break 'em?" She looked about and spotted a heavy candle holder on the night table. She brought it to him.

"Looks like the only option," he replied. "Stand back." He swung the base at the glass; a crack appeared in the pane. The Doctor tapped it with a finger, and the glass fell away. He smiled in satisfaction. "Good old-fashioned physics," he said, already working on the next pane. Within a minute he'd removed all six. Unfortunately the lead frame still remained. The spaces between the narrow bars were only a few inches wide. He pressed against the lead, grunting a little with the effort.

"Can you bend it?" she asked.

"I don't know. Sonic screwdriver'd be able to melt it in about ten seconds…"

"But you don't have it," she said rather sharply. Her forehead throbbed again.

"I'm well aware of that," he replied calmly, still working at the metal. He turned to give a solid push with his shoulder. His face reflected pain with the effort.

If only she could find the screwdriver… Rose closed her eyes, trying to remember. There was a vague notion nudging at the edge of her memory. She'd seen the instrument, felt its coolness and weight in her palm… but when was that? She'd held it many times in the past. Was that all she was recalling?

She wiped a hand over the tickle in her nose and opened her eyes when the Doctor grunted loudly. His attention was focused on the window. "Couple more," he panted, slamming his shoulder against the lead again.

Rose lowered her hand, unsurprised to see the streak of blood across it. She moved quietly to the dresser and picked up the towel. She pressed it over her nose. She was shivering again; the room was extremely cold without the scant protection of the glass.

She held the towel in place as the Doctor heaved his body against the window three more times. Finally she saw the lead frame pop from the window.

"That's it," he declared, pushing the last of the frame away.

Rose removed the towel then dabbed a clean corner against her nose. She was relieved that no fresh blood appeared. The water pitcher was empty, so she had to settle for wiping around her nose with the cloth, hoping she'd managed to remove all traces of the latest incident. The Doctor had enough to preoccupy his mind without worrying about her.

He'd cleared the window and was pushing his lean body through the open space. She watched as his legs then feet slid through. He turned to look back at her, holding out a hand. "Roof's steeper here, so the snow hasn't piled up as much," he told her.

She nodded then moved to the window. She took his hand, and he helped her through the narrow opening. Even with his assistance, however, she found herself belly-first on extremely cold snow. The Doctor was on his hands and knees, crawling toward the edge of the roof. He peered over.

"Snowdrifts are six feet high," he informed her. "It's not a bad jump. I'll go first." And he did.

Rose crawled to the edge and looked down. The Doctor stood knee-deep in snow, holding out his arms to her. She got to her feet then took a breath and jumped.

She landed on a patch of frozen snow, her feet breaking through with enough force to push a cry of pain from her. For a few disconcerting moments she was sinking down, frightened that she'd be swallowed entirely by the freezing white mass.

But then the Doctor's hands wrapped around her arms, and he was pulling her up. "I've got you," he was saying, though his voice seemed fuzzy. "Up you come."

She scrabbled out of the hole, aided by his efforts, and finally found herself only ankle-deep in snow. The Time Lord had managed to pull her down the drift.

"All right?" he asked peremptorily, already orienting himself with a steady gaze over the area.

"Yeah, s'pose so," she replied huskily. The cold was making her throat hurt, and her fingers were growing numb.

"This way," he said, plowing through the snow.

Rose followed with plodding steps. She tried to keep to his track, where he'd left deep footprints, but his stride was considerably longer than hers, and the effort was exhausting. By the time she reached the kitchen door, she was panting. At least the exercise had warmed her a bit.

The Doctor was pushing the snow away from the door with his hands and feet. As soon as he'd cleared it sufficiently, he pushed it open, moving cautiously in case the portal was providing support for the wall.

The roof creaked feebly as he stepped inside the kitchen. "Ma'am?" he called.

Rose entered behind him, stopping for a few seconds to take in the extent of the damage. Almost half of the roof had collapsed, leaving snow and jagged beams and boards in its wake. The table was broken, and beside it lay the innkeeper.

The Doctor had already spotted her and hurried to her side. He knelt down and pressed his fingers over her neck. "Alive," he said, relief obvious in his tone. "Ma'am, can you hear me?"

Rose made her way to them. He was running his hands over her head then down her neck and back.

"Is she badly hurt?" Rose asked.

"No evidence of spinal injury," he replied, "but she's got a pretty substantial bump on the back of her head." He lifted her eyelid. "Good, no concussion."

The older woman stirred, opening her eyes to look up blearily at the Time Lord. "What…" she gasped, "what happened?"

"Snow caused the roof to collapse," he replied. "Looks like you got in the way."

Ma'am began pushing herself up on her elbows, but she gasped in pain, looking down at her left arm.

The Doctor helped her to sit then felt along the arm. "Radius is broken, I'm afraid," he informed her. "Anything else hurt?"

She shook her head. "Just about everything. But I don't think anything else is broken." She gripped her injured arm then gave a short laugh. "Except the roof, that is."

Said structure seemed to hear her words and responded with another loud creak. Three pairs of eyes shot up, and three mouths opened in alarm as the remaining section of roof began to crumble.

"Cellar!" Rose cried, scurrying toward the work table. She scraped away snow and a few smaller boards to reveal a trapdoor on the floor. She pulled it open.

The Doctor was pushing the innkeeper across the floor, and Rose grabbed the woman's arm and shoved her toward the newly revealed staircase.

"Now, Rose!" the Doctor cried, and she hurled her body forward, tumbling down the stairs. She heard a great crashing, and then all sound was muffled.


	6. Chapter 6

Rose lay in the dark, dazed for a minute. She heard breathing, and then she recalled what had happened. She pushed herself up onto her elbows, feeling about with her hands. She touched fabric, then an arm, and heard a gasp.

"Ma'am?" she asked.

"Yes."

"Sorry." She took a breath. "Doctor?"

"Over here, Rose."

She exhaled in relief. He'd made it down into the cellar, too. Suddenly light filled the room, and she saw him kneeling a few yard away, holding a match in his hand.

"Lantern's over there," Ma'am said, nodding toward the bottom of the stairs.

The Doctor stood and lit the lantern. Soft light filled the cellar. It was a small space, just deep enough to permit the Time Lord to stand at his full height, although a few strands of his tousled hair brushed against the ceiling. The cellar's area was perhaps sixty or seventy square feet, and shelves, pots, jugs, and barrels lined the walls.

The Doctor clambered up the stairs and pushed at the door. "Looks like we're going to be staying in here for a while. Door won't budge—probably has about a ton of snow over it."

He took a few steps so that he could crouch down beside Rose; she'd managed to sit up. She rubbed at her temple. She thought she'd knocked it against one of the stairs as she tumbled downward.

"You all right?" he asked, lifting the lantern so that the brightest of the light fell across her face. She dropped her hand quickly.

"Yeah," she replied shortly, shifting her gaze to the older woman.

"Ma'am?" inquired the Doctor, moving over to her side. "How are you doing?" He helped her to sit up.

"Been better," she replied, gripping her broken arm tightly. She was very pale. "But I don't think I've broken anything else, and I suppose I'd be a lot worse if I were still up there." She glanced at the ceiling.

"We'd all be," he agreed then nodded at her injured arm. "Let's see what we can do about that."

He made a quick search of the cellar and returned with a narrow, smooth piece of wood. "From that old barrel," he informed them, as if both would know precisely to what he referred. He placed the slat on the ground then broke it in half. He held up one of the pieces. "Just the thing for a splint. Now what to use to hold it in place…" He patted his jacket then reached for his tie. "Perfect!" he exclaimed as he removed the small item.

He deftly adjusted Ma'am's arm then fitted the impromptu splint, enlisting Rose's assistance to hold the slat in place while he wrapped the tie around it. The innkeeper's breath hitched several times, and despite the coolness of the cellar, her skin was growing clammy.

When he'd finished with the splint, the Doctor took the older woman's apron and fashioned a sling. Carefully he settled her arm into it then leaned back to admire his work.

"Thank you," Ma'am murmured, blinking rapidly. Her eyes shone brightly.

"Doctor," Rose said softly, "is there anything you can do to help with the pain?"

He cocked his head to the side as though surprised by the request. "Oh! It must hurt badly."

Ma'am nodded. "Yes."

"I'm sorry—I should have realised…" He moved his hand to her shoulder and pressed his thumb just to the side of the joint. For an instant the injured woman's eyes widened, then she exhaled.

"That's… better," she said slowly.

"Yep," he acknowledged. "Little technique I learned from the Chirochimes. It's called nerve suppression, and it works by—"

Rose nudged him in the ribs and shook her head when he glanced at her.

"Right," he said. "Anyway, it should block most of the pain for the next couple of hours. In the meantime, you should rest. Even though you can't feel the pain, your body is still going to react to the injury. Best thing for you is to have a nice lie-down. Now let's see where you'll be most comfortable…"

He scooted away and busied himself in the corner for a few minutes. When he moved away, Rose saw that he'd arranged several large, half-empty bags of grain into a sort of mattress with an extra one at one end to make a pillow. He returned and helped Ma'am over to the make-shift bed, accompanied by Rose. After she was reclining, he removed his jacket and draped it over her. He brushed his fingertips over her brow, and Rose saw her eyes close.

He watched the woman for a few seconds then gave a nod of satisfaction. He stood and beckoned for Rose to follow him. They went toward the staircase, where they sat down on one of the lower steps. The Doctor set the lantern to the side so that Ma'am's corner was shrouded in shadow.

"She'll sleep for a while now," he told Rose.

She nodded, reaching up to rub at her temple again. It was still throbbing dully. "So what now? We gonna try to get out of here?"

He looked up at the trapdoor. "Judging by the amount of snow and remains of roof that fell, I don't think it's possible. Now if I had the sonic screwdriver, I could use it to melt the snow, or just resonate it so that it would break up easily with a bit of pressure—"

"But you don't have it," she retorted curtly, her voice rising a little. "So will you just stop sayin' stuff like that?"

He blinked at her and frowned. "Sorry."

She shrugged and returned her fingers to her head. It was pounding now. "'S just that usin' it's not an option, so why even bother discussin' it? You're just gonna have to do things the old-fashioned way."

"Suppose I am." His gaze slowly swept the room, returning to her somewhat languidly. He frowned. "Did you hit your head?"

She realized that she was still massaging her temple. "'S nothin'," she replied offhandedly.

"Let me see." He brushed aside her hand and replaced it with his own, cool fingers softly probing. He easily found the sore spot. His hand began to slide around toward the back of her head. She jerked back and pushed his wrist away.

"I'm sorry," he said quickly. "Did I hurt you?"

She shook her head. "No, I'm fine."

He reached for the lantern and held it up to illuminate her face. He studied her eyes for a moment until she blinked and cast her gaze downward.

"Look at me, Rose," he instructed gently.

"You don't have to fuss over me," she replied. "It's just a little bump—nothin' serious. 'M not dizzy or anything."

"You sure?" He attempted to lift her chin, but she grasped his wrist again then threaded her fingers through his, lowering his hand into her lap.

"I'm fine," she repeated, more distinctly this time. Truth be told, her head ached fiercely and she was awfully cold, though the cellar was definitely warmer than the rest of inn had been. In the higher temperature, the snow had melted from her clothing, leaving her jeans wet and clinging to her skin.

He lifted the hand in his. "You feel cold, Rose."

She shrugged. "I am, a little. Jeans are damp."

He reached around to the nearest shelf and grabbed a couple of clean rags. He dropped her hand and began patting at her left leg, attempting to blot up some of the water. She did the same with the right leg.

"'S better," she informed him after a few minutes.

He moved the lantern close to her legs, pulling off the chimney, and a small circle of warmth radiated toward her. "That'll help, too."

"Thanks."

They sat quietly for a short while, but the Time Lord's garrulous nature had him speaking again before long.

"If we're lucky," he said, eyes moving to the trapdoor, "our friends Taman and Frull will dig us out before too long."

"An' if we're not?"

He glanced at her. "Well," he replied, extending the short word into the two-second version, "then our oxygen supply gets cut off."

She frowned. "But there's plenty of air in here. An' it's not air-tight anyway."

"Actually," he corrected good-naturedly, "it is now. The snow has created a very effective, air-tight barrier, so no oxygen is getting in here. We still have what was already here and what came in with us, but that won't last indefinitely. I had a good look around, and there're no holes or vents or any other way for fresh air to enter."

"How long's it gonna last?"

"Oh, quite a while. Hours, definitely."

"Hours? Like two or twenty?"

He lifted his hands, steepled fingers tapping together. "Six or seven. Probably closer to eight if I use my respiratory bypass and don't use up as much oxygen. Still, there're three of us, so that uses up more than if there were just one or two—"

"So we've got eight hours tops for them to dig us out." Rose swallowed; she knew that clearing the mountain of snow would be a daunting, slow job. And it was entirely possible that the other two guests had been trapped in the common room with the latest collapse, so there was a significant chance that they wouldn't even be able to attempt a rescue. "If they can even try…" she finished.

He nodded somberly then seemed to force himself to brighten. "But there's always hope, Rose," he said. "And who knows, maybe I'll think of a brilliant plan in the meantime."

"Yeah," she replied rather morosely.

The Doctor hopped up and began stalking around the cellar, obviously searching for some heretofore unnoticed solution to their problem.

For all her complaints that wishing for the sonic screwdriver was pointless, Rose had to admit that the instrument would be of tremendous benefit at the moment. Because really, it seemed to her that the chances of the two clerics managing to dig them out were slim at best. And time was of the essence.

They needed the Time Lord's bit of advanced technology. But they were trapped down here, so even if she knew where it was, it wouldn't make a— Wait, how could she know the location of the device? Why did that thought even occur to her?

For an instant, she felt a searing burst of pain behind her eyes. She suppressed a whimper, but only just. She pressed her hands over her brow, bending her head to her knees. _Stop thinking about that. You don't know where it is. It's gone. It's of no use to him now. _

"Rose?"

She was barely aware of the hand lightly gripping her shoulder. She was focused upon taking deep, steadying breaths, trying to force the pain away. She needed to clear her mind, think of nothing, just a blank wall, or an expanse of snow…

"Rose."

Her head was lifted slowly with a touch of her chin. She blinked. The agonizing ache had subsided to a tender tightness. But still she felt light-headed, and her body was cold while her cheeks were warm. Her upper lip was hot.

The Doctor's face was before her, expression rigid with concern. One hand held up her head while the other lifted an eyelid. He peered closely at her.

"'M okay," she said weakly. She tried to pull back a little, but he held her securely.

He shook his head and reached for one of the damp rags. As soon as he pressed it over her nose she realized that the heat she'd felt was her own blood.

"Oh God," she murmured, closing her eyes. She did not resist when he tilted her head back.

They sat without speaking until the nosebleed stopped. He moved the rag away, wiping at the blood above her lip gently.

"That's four," he said gravely.

"What?"

"Your fourth nosebleed. You said they used to come in threes, but this makes four."

She sighed. "I must've forgotten."

"Maybe. Or maybe there's something else going on." He lifted his hand and raised his index finger. "Follow this with your eyes."

He moved his finger across her field of vision. She shook her head without complying.

"Is your vision blurry?" he asked with obvious concern.

"No. But this is stupid. I'm fine."

Although he appeared rather affronted for a moment, he said calmly, "Four nosebleeds in less than twenty-four hours does not fit in with the general definition of 'fine.' There was no evidence of injury or damage to the sinuses or nasal passages yesterday, and if the cause were environmental it's unlikely that you'd have another incident here. So that tells me that something else is causing this."

"'S nothin'," she said tersely.

"Rose, please." His tone had shifted; he was serious and anxious, and he was not in the mood for argument. "Let me have a look at you."

"Why? 'S nothin' you can do down here, an' we're probably not gettin' out anyway, so what's it matter?"

"First, there may be something I can do down here, but I won't know that until I figure out what's wrong. Second, we are most definitely getting out of here. Have you forgotten that I'm brilliant? I'll think of something, don't you worry. And third, it matters because I don't want to see anything happen to you." His voice softened considerably with his final sentence.

Rose was moved by his tone and by his expression. Of course he wouldn't want to see her ill or harmed. And naturally he'd do whatever he could to help her… "I know," she said softly, reaching out for his hand. For just a moment she let herself respond by pure instinct, forbidding any thoughts to enter her mind.

"All right," he said, lifting his hand again,"let's give this another try."

He moved his finger slowly, and she focused upon it as it slid along in front of her. He nodded then lifted each eyelid to study her eyes closely. He pressed his fingers over her aching forehead and across her cheeks. He had her close her eyes and touch her nose with each index finger, then he asked her to stand on one leg. He felt her pulse and rested his palm over her chest to count her inhalations and exhalations.

"Well," he finally said, "I don't see anything out of the ordinary."

"Told ya," she retorted. "'S just a stupid little nosebleed." And a pounding headache, she reminded herself. "And anyway, you have other things to worry about. Weren't you gonna try to figure out a way out?"

He'd been crouched before her, but now he stood. "Yes, I was—I am." He squeezed her shoulder gently then returned to his examination of the cellar.

Rose exhaled in relief. He hadn't found anything_… he hadn't noticed_… She blinked. Noticed what? She shook her head to clear it. Maybe the lack of oxygen was beginning to affect her brain.


	7. Chapter 7

Rose remained on the steps while the Doctor explored the cellar thoroughly once again, searching for something that would help them escape the confines before the oxygen was completely depleted. His mind, however, was not fully focused upon the various items that passed beneath his eyes and hands. He was worried about Rose—more than worried, in fact—really, quite concerned.

While it was true that she showed no overt signs of neurological disease or damage, he couldn't shake the feeling that the nosebleeds and headaches were linked to a cerebral cause. The thought at the forefront of his mind was a tumor, most likely in the pre-frontal lobe. That would account for her symptoms, and in the early stages soft neurological signs might still be minimal. As for the cause, he remembered with painful clarity that she'd been exposed to alien radiation with each encounter with the Daleks.

Why hadn't he thought to be more cautious, to scan her regularly for any lingering effects from radiation or other alien materials? She always seemed so robust, so full of life; but still, he should've been more careful.

He glanced at her often as he prowled about, trying to keep his thoughts on the task at hand. When he reached Ma'am, he knelt beside her and rested a hand against the sleeping woman's cheek. She was warm; her body was responding to the broken bone and potential for infection with a low-grade fever. He adjusted his jacket over her, sparing a few moments to look about the immediate surroundings. He found nothing that would help with their predicament.

Finally he returned to Rose. She'd wrapped her arms around her knees and lowered her head. He thought at first that she'd fallen asleep, but she looked up with a wan smile when he sat down next to her.

"How are you doing?" he asked, watching her face carefully for any signs of pain or disorientation.

"'M okay," she replied. "Did you find anythin' that can help us get outta here?"

He shook his head. "Nothing that could be used as an explosive, no tunneling equipment, no secret portals to the outside world… nope, nothing."

"So what're we gonna do?"

He glanced above his head. "Have you heard anything at all?"

"No."

"Well, that's all right. They have a lot of snow and rubble to dig through… it could take some time."

"If they're even diggin' at all," she said rather morosely.

He forced himself to smile brightly and reached for her hands. "Rose Tyler! Optimism has always been your middle name. Well, I suppose Marion really comes first, but Rose Marion Optimism Tyler's how I think of you, and there's a reason for that. Hope goes a long way in situations like this. We can't give up, can't begin to think that they won't reach us in time—"

"Yeah, an' how much time've we got?"

"Oh, there's still hours more oxygen in here."

"You sure?"

He nodded. "Of course."

"How'll we know when it's running out?"

"Rose, that's not—"

"Doctor." She gripped his hands tightly. "How will we know?"

He sighed. "You'll begin to feel light-headed, almost like you're drunk, and there'll probably be a heaviness in your chest." He paused then added quickly, "But that's not going to happen. We'll be out of here long before that."

"But if not, then we all die." It was a statement of resignation. Rose's eyes moved to the sleeping woman, then she added, "She doesn't deserve this. 'S not right…" Her hand moved up to rub at her forehead again, and she closed her eyes. "There's gotta be a way."

"I'm not giving up," he said firmly, "not by a long shot. Of course there's a way; there's always a way—usually more than one, often half a dozen or two dozen or a hundred."

"One's all we need," she replied softly. "Talk me through it."

"Hmm?"

"Tell me what we'd need to do—not what tools we'd need, but what has to happen."

He nodded. Rose had a way of drawing information and ideas out of him, even if neither quite realized how it had happened. "Right. Obviously the snow has to be removed; its weight is preventing us from opening the door. Now if we had some way of increasing the force from down here, it's possible that we could get the door to move. Short of that, getting rid of the snow is the only option."

"An' it has to be shoveled away or melted, right? There's no other possibility."

"Shoveled, melted, or broken down."

"Resonating…" she murmured almost dreamily. She squinted, and he was suddenly aware that her heart rate had sped up considerably. Her eyelids fluttered then shut. "Need the sonic screwdriver… resonate the snow." Suddenly she ground her palms over her eyes and shook her head violently.

"Rose, what's the matter?" he asked with alarm.

"I can't," she panted.

Gently he pulled her hands away from her face. Blood was trickling from her nose, and for some reason he wasn't surprised. He reached for the cloth again and held it over her nose. "It's all right, Rose. We'll figure something out."

When her eyes met his, he saw desperation, sadness, and regret. She was afraid of dying down here, of squandering her life on another adventure with him…

"I'll get us out of here," he said with conviction. "I promise."

* * *

She knew he'd never intentionally break a promise, but the Doctor was very close to that right now. Oh, he'd made a valiant effort, searching and rummaging and thinking and babbling and finally sighing as he considered, and exhausted, every available option for escaping the suffocating confines of the cellar.

And now the oxygen was becoming exhausted, too. Rose had begun to feel light-headed some time ago, and Ma'am, who'd roused for a while, was sleeping again. The Doctor was clearly less affected as he made one final pass through the dim little room.

She noticed that the flame in the lantern had diminished to a weak flicker. She couldn't remember much about chemistry, but she knew that fire required oxygen, so this was clearly not a good sign.

"They're not comin' for us," she said, her voice little more than a whisper. "I haven't heard anythin', not even a scrape…"

He returned to her side, easing himself down on the stair. "There's one thing we can try," he said rather slowly.

"Yeah?" For an instant she felt a little spark of hope, but it faded quickly when she saw the somber expression he wore. "An' what's that?"

"I can remove the hinges from the door, pull it down, and if the snow's not too tightly packed some will fall through. It might reduce the mass enough for me to dig through."

"But it could be ten feet thick, an' there's probably a ton of rubble on top of it," she began to protest. "You could suffocate or be crushed—"

He shook his head and smiled sadly. "It's our only option." He got to his feet and reached up for the nearest hinge.

She watched him in the dull light. His fingers fumbled at the screw. He seemed to sense her eyes upon him, because he glanced down at her and said, "It's all right, Rose. I can get these. Just need a little time and—oof! Ow!" He shook his hand vigorously.

"Lemme me help," she said, standing. She swayed slightly as dizziness swept over her.

He reached for her arm to steady her. "All right?"

She nodded and lifted her hand to press her fingers over another screw. "Yeah."

"Times like this, I'd be happy for a plain old screwdriver of the non-sonic variety," he said, trying to infuse a little humour into his tone.

Rose exhaled slowly, growing more and more aware of each breath she took. "The old fashioned way," she said idly, the words barely registering with her. Truth be told, her head was awfully fuzzy, and she felt as though she were half in the bag.

"Yep, the old-fashioned…" She saw his hands drop abruptly to his sides as he turned to face her. "You said that before."

"Huh?"

"That's not the first time you've said that," he repeated.

"Yeah, sorry, 'm not feelin' very… umm, what's the word? Organ? No, origin? Oh, original. Not feelin' very original," she slurred.

He took her shoulders and eased her down again. It was a good thing, really, because her legs were suddenly quite wobbly and weak. She felt him take her wrist and press his fingers over the pulse point.

When her vision cleared sufficiently to see him, she found the Doctor leaning in, his face very close to hers. "Rose," he said with barely controlled urgency, "you're beginning to suffer the effects of oxygen starvation and hypoxia. Your mind's feeling foggy, isn't it?"

She nodded dully. Why were his brows so tight and his eyes so bright? That was the look he had when he was thinking, really puzzling over something, wasn't it? She couldn't clearly remember…

"How did you know the cellar was here?" he was asking her.

She frowned; that was a silly thing to ask. She shook her head.

"Rose!" His hands were on her cheeks now, and his eyes were fixed on hers. "How did you know?"

She shrugged laconically. "Must've seen it before."

"Before? But you never went in the kitchen last night, did you?"

"Dunno. Maybe." Suddenly her head was hurting again.

"Think, Rose."

"What's it matter?" she sighed.

"Rose! You have to remember. It's important!" he exhorted. Then, more gently, he said, "Please try. Just think back and tell me how you knew precisely where the cellar door was even though it was covered in snow, even though you'd never been in the kitchen before."

She closed her eyes. That was a good question, she supposed. No, it was silly, because she _had _seen the trapdoor before, when she went into the kitchen last night… Pain stabbed across her forehead, and she groaned.

"Rose? What is it?"

"Hurts," she moaned, not even thinking to hide the pain from him.

She didn't realize that her nose was bleeding again until she saw him lift the cloth to her face. By then blood had dripped onto her hand and leg, and she was vaguely aware that it was more than before, much more…

"I know this is difficult." His voice filtered through the haze of pain, and she was aware that his fingers were pressing against her temple. "But Rose, you have to try to remember. Tell me how you knew about the cellar."

She took a deep breath, and the words tumbled out unbidden. "I went into the kitchen last night—when I said I was goin' to the loo. But I wasn't. I had to go in there, had to…" The pain crashed through her forehead, splitting it in two. But no, that wasn't possible, was it?

"Tell me the truth, Rose."

She opened her mouth, words on the tip of her tongue, but her head was tightening, something was closing around her, throttling her mind, devouring her words. She couldn't speak, but she could still move, and she managed to lift her hand and point a shaking finger at the back of her head. Then she collapsed against the Doctor's shoulder.

His hands moved through her hair, over her scalp, and then she felt a new source of pain. It was just below her crown, just behind her part. She whimpered again, trying weakly to push away from him.

"No, Rose, stay still," he admonished gently. "I've almost got it."

She gasped when the pain exploded through her entire head. She did not fight the blackness beginning to overwhelm her.

But the Doctor did. He patted at her cheeks, then slapped her lightly, entreating her to stay awake, to remember, to tell him…

Suddenly she could see again, and the pain subsided to a dull ache. She realized that she was gasping for breath, but he was rubbing at her back and speaking softly to her.

"It's all right. Just breathe," he said.

"Don't wanna… use up… all the air," she replied.

He smiled at her. "We've still got a little left, and I have a feeling there's going to be more on the way soon."

When she'd begun breathing more steadily, albeit with the heaviness persisting in her chest, he eased back, still holding her but positioning himself so that he could see her face.

"Tell me where you hid the sonic screwdriver," he said evenly.

"Hid?"

He smiled reassuringly. "Yes. Last night, when you said you were going to the loo. You really went into the kitchen, didn't you?"

She had. She remembered now. When he'd gone to the kitchen for the drinks, she'd slipped over to his jacket and removed the sonic screwdriver. She'd kept it in her jeans pocket, careful to be sure he didn't see it, and then she'd said she was going to find the bathroom, but instead she'd walked into the kitchen, relieved to find it deserted, and…

Abruptly she pushed herself to her feet. Her legs felt like they were made of jelly, and she began to sink down again. The Doctor reached for her, but she shoved off of him, landing on her knees a few feet from the bottom step.

"Rose! What are you doing?"

His voice was fuzzy, and little black spots were dancing in the dimness before her eyes, but Rose was determined, and she began crawling across the floor. She dragged herself toward the apple barrels; she could still recall the hint of sweetness hovering around them when she'd stood over them last night.

She sank to her belly, reaching behind the barrels. Her fingers were thick and leaden, but she fumbled about until the cool metal touched her palm. She wrapped her hand around the object then rolled onto her back. With the last of her strength, Rose pushed herself up onto her elbow and lifted her hand.

"Here," she rasped, holding the sonic screwdriver up, vaguely aware that it glinted softly in the final bit of lantern light.

The Doctor was already beside her. He grabbed the instrument and switched it on. Rose collapsed onto her back once more. The low hum was mesmerising, lulling her into a light slumber. And sleep was so welcoming, so nice, and she decided not to fight it. She succumbed to its peace.


	8. Chapter 8

The Doctor held the sonic screwdriver aloft, focusing its emissions on the ton of snow above. The vibration emitted by the instrument would break up the frozen pack into a fine powder that should be easy to push through, but that would take a minute or two.

The lantern's flame had winked out, and it was very dark in the cellar. The Doctor crouched at Rose's side, his free hand resting gently over her chest. She was still breathing but very shallowly. He scooted over to Ma'am to find her in a similar condition. He'd switched to partial respiratory bypass as soon as the oxygen reached a dangerously low level, so he was able to function satisfactorily even in the suffocating atmosphere. But he couldn't last indefinitely, and the two human woman couldn't last much longer at all.

After he'd judged that minimally sufficient time had passed, he scrabbled up the stairs and pushed upon the door. It didn't budge.

"Come on!" he groaned, slamming his hands against it. "No, no, no! Open up!"

He put all of his weight and then some into his next thrust, and the door creaked upward. Panting with the effort, he heaved again. Suddenly cold, wet, white snow rained down upon him as the door flew open. He could taste the lovely tang of oxygen rushing over him and down into the cellar. Laughing, he opened his arms to the frozen gift.

The Doctor poked his head through the opening to find snow scattered all about. Debris lay among the white piles, too. He didn't spare more than a second looking around; he returned to the cellar, clambering down the steps and rushing to Rose's side. He pressed his fingers against the pulse point in her throat to find only the faintest beat. An ear hovering above her mouth told him that she had stopped breathing.

"Rose," he said with forced cheer, "come on, there's plenty of oxygen now—nice, rich, satisfying oxygen, just waiting to fill up your lungs…"

The pulse beneath his fingers only slowed more. He wasted no more time in waiting. He inhaled, tilted her head back, parted her lips gently, and exhaled into her mouth. Her lips felt cold against his, and he could taste the blood that remained on her skin. He offered her several more breaths, and finally Rose exhaled on her own.

"That's it," he praised, watching her chest fall then rise again.

He waited until she'd taken several more independent breaths then moved over to the other woman. Ma'am was breathing shallowly, so he lifted her to a sitting position, which encouraged deeper respiration. She was groggy, but he assured her that everything would be fine before returning to Rose.

He pulled his companion into his arms, resting her back against his chest as he pressed a hand over her heart. It was beating steadily, and her lungs were functioning almost normally now, though she was still breathing somewhat harshly.

He looked up when he heard voices. The two clerics' anxious faces appeared in the open doorway. "Doctor? Miss Tyler? Ma'am? Are you down there?"

"Yes," replied the Time Lord. "We're all right, but Ma'am is hurt. We could use some help getting out. Mind her arm."

Taman and Frull hurried down the steps and helped the innkeeper up into the devastated kitchen. The Doctor carried Rose. She had stirred to semi-consciousness but was not yet ready to walk. He held her carefully and securely in his arms.

When he emerged into the ruins, he found several other people hovering about. They were wrapping Ma'am in blankets, then they lead her away. A sturdy fellow immediately set a blanket over Rose and said, "My house is just over there. Do you want me to take her?"

The Doctor shook his head. "No. I'll take care of her."

He followed the man through the snow to a home not far away. He noticed that it was constructed of stone and heavy beams, which had withstood the weight of the snow. Once inside, the man's wife directed him to a bedroom where a small fireplace offered a warm glow.

He set Rose upon the bed. She opened her eyes and coughed.

"Easy," he said. "Your chest may feel a little sore and tight, so try to take small breaths for now."

She nodded and complied, lying still for a minute while she steadied her breathing. He took a warm quilt from a chair near the fire and replaced the blanket covering Rose. Their hostess entered the room with a tray holding two steaming mugs and two thick bowls filled with stew. She set the tray beside the bed and looked down at Rose.

"Oh, you've been hurt," she said, noticing the blood smeared over the young woman's face, hands, and chest.

Rose lifted her arm and frowned at the sticky red stain. "It was my nose," she said softly.

"She had a nosebleed," the Doctor said, "but she'll be all right."

"I'll bring some warm water and soap," the woman offered.

"Thank you," the Time Lord replied. "How's Ma'am?"

"Cold, and her arm hurts, but otherwise all right. I'm brewing some tea that will help with the pain."

He nodded. "I'll set her arm properly in a little while."

The woman thanked him then left.

"What happened?" Rose asked, still staring at the blood on her hand.

"Let's not worry about that right now," he said gently. "You've been through quite an ordeal, and you need to rest."

"'M really tired," she agreed.

"Yes." He brushed his fingers over her cool cheek then took her wrist to check her pulse again. "Much better," he said with a small nod. "But you're still awfully cold. Have a little of this tea."

He slid an arm beneath her shoulders and helped her to sit then lifted the mug to her lips. She took several sips, and he was pleased to see a bit of colour suffuse her cheeks. Their hostess returned with the promised supplies, as well as a warm nightshirt, and the Doctor carefully washed the blood from Rose's face and hands. He helped her to remove her soiled shirt, too, and slip into the clean flannel garment. While she remained sitting, he had her lean forward so that he could examine the back of her head.

Her hair was matted with blood, so he gently wiped it away before parting the strands with his fingers. He'd had to work by touch alone when he removed the small device embedded in her scalp, and he regretted the pain he'd caused her. There was some minor tissue damage, too; he'd left a little gouge.

"Does this hurt?" he asked as he carefully cleaned the wound.

"A little," she admitted. "Did I hit my head?"

"No," he replied with some remorse, "not exactly." He patted softly at the site with a clean towel then eased her back against the pillows.

"Then what?" she asked blearily, seeming to require a few moments to process his reply.

"Later, Rose. Right now you need sleep, and I need to sort Ma'am's arm." He smiled at her and ran his hand over her hair.

Her eyes closed, and within half a minute, Rose was asleep. He watched her for another few minutes, checking her respiration rate and pulse several times before feeling completely assured that she was in no danger. He pulled the quilt up and tucked it around her shoulders. He pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead before he left the room.

* * *

Rose roused slowly, images scattered throughout her mind. She'd been dreaming, immersed in strange visions that had her burying the TARDIS keys and stealing the sonic screwdriver then hiding it in a cold, dark cellar… Suddenly her eyes opened, and she gasped.

One look at her surroundings told her that the images were memories, not dreams. She lay in an unfamiliar bed in a small, simple room. A fire glowed warmly in the hearth, and an empty chair sat next to the bed. She saw her shirt, stained with patches of red, draped over the foot board.

She sat up, dizzy for a moment or two. Her chest remained heavy, but she was able to breathe without any real difficulty.

"You're awake!" the Doctor's voice proclaimed happily. He strode through the door, a cheerful smile spreading across his face. "How are you feeling?"

She shrugged. "Okay, I s'pose," she replied wanly.

He sat down beside her, his expression shifting to one of concern. "Are you having any trouble breathing?" He removed the sonic screwdriver from his pocket and held it over her chest.

"No, not really. 'S still a little sore."

He nodded and switched off the device. "I can fix that in about fifteen seconds once we're back in the TARDIS. I'd have taken you there already, but I still don't know where the keys are." He lifted an eyebrow expectantly.

"They're buried behind the ship, just down the hill, beside the bush with the red berries," she said, closing her eyes as she saw herself digging in the soft dirt, moving as though she were a puppet, without volition…

"All righty, shouldn't be hard to find. Thanks for picking a spot that was easy to remember." He smiled a bit too broadly.

"'M sorry," she murmured, looking out the window and away from him.

"It wasn't your fault," he said, taking her hand in his.

She kept her gaze on the window, on the snow covering the lower half of the pane.

"Rose, look at me," he instructed gently.

She sighed and turned her head to face him. "Why'd I do those things?"

He reached into a pocket and withdrew a tiny object, gripped between his thumb and forefinger. "This is why."

Rose peered at the item. It was a little disk with tiny prongs on one side. "What's that?" she asked, rubbing at the back of her head. She winced; there was a very sore spot just beneath her part.

"This is courtesy of your hat selling friend on Yquee-Mun 7."

She frowned. "What?"

"It must've been attached to the inside of the hat, and when you put it on the device burrowed into your scalp. It's quite clever, actually; it's remote controlled, and it has motile capabilities, as well as emitting strong electronic impulses that affect neural functioning—"

She took the disk from him. "This made me do it?"

He nodded, his enthusiasm for the technological savvy of the design fading quickly. "Yes. It put an idea in your subconscious, an idea that you had no choice but to act upon."

"But why? What was the point of me doin' those things? Why hide the keys and the screwdriver from you?"

He leaned in, capturing her gaze with his. "Don't you know?"

_The old-fashioned way. _The phrase echoed through her thoughts. "It was," she said slowly, "so that you'd have to manage in a place where there was no real technology, no major advances… Oh!" She pressed a hand over her mouth. "I turned the time dial, too. I sent us here."

"I reckoned that, after I'd figured out what was going on. It seems that the Yquee-Muns never did really forgive my people for taking away their capability for time travel. They must've waited centuries, even eons, for a Time Lord to visit their planet again, but as soon as they picked up the signature of a TARDIS, they were ready. They'd been planning it for thousands of years."

"They wanted you to end up someplace fairly primitive, so that you'd understand what it was like to be stuck without the technology you wanted," Rose finished.

The Doctor nodded. "Yep. But they didn't factor in the determination of humans—well, of one particular human at least." He gave her cheek a light, brief caress.

Rose shook her head. "Determination? Doctor, all I did was act like their puppet, do exactly what they wanted."

"That's not entirely true. You resisted at some very basic, yet very critical, level. Each time you wanted to remember where the keys or the screwdriver were, or what you'd done in programming the TARDIS, you had a nosebleed. Your mind was trying so hard to bring the memories to the surface that it caused a physical reaction—a significant, sudden increase in cerebral blood flow."

"That's why I had the nosebleeds?"

"Yes."

"But at the end—in the cellar, just before the oxygen ran out—I started to remember, an' I knew there was somethin' wrong, somethin' messin' with my head."

"You did." He gave a short, ironic bark of laughter. "I think we have the oxygen deprivation to thank for that. Hypoxia can lower inhibitions and affect memory, and in this case it probably helped to break down those shields your subconscious had put up around the memories of the actions this caused." He tapped the little disk with his fingertip.

"So by almost dyin', I ended up savin' us?" she asked rather incredulously.

"Exactly!" He grinned. "Rather brilliant, Rose."

But his words did little to assuage her remorse. "We'd never've ended up in that cellar if I hadn't brought us here."

"True. But Ma'am probably still would've, or else she'd have been trapped in the kitchen and killed by the falling snow or debris. So our being here saved her life."

"I hadn't thought of that," Rose conceded, slightly mollified by the notion. "How's she doin'?"

"She'll be fine. I set the bone—managed a fairly impressive splinting technique, in fact. 'Course it would've been better if I could've made a cast, but those won't be invented here for oh, three or four hundred years, so I had to make do with the supplies on hand—"

"She wasn't harmed from the lack of oxygen?"

"No."

"An' how 'bout me?" she asked. "Are the nosebleeds over now that the device is gone?"

He nodded. "Yes. And I don't think there's any long-term damage. While you were sleeping I did as thorough a scan as I could," he touched the screwdriver, "and there were no signs of significant injury. But I'll double-check once we're back in the TARDIS."

"An' when's that gonna be?"

"Oh, whenever you're ready. Snow's stopped coming down, and the sun's out, so everything should begin melting off soon."

"'M ready now," Rose said, swinging her legs over the edge of the bed.

"Wait!" he cried, shooting to his feet.

"What?" she asked, mildly alarmed.

"You can't leave before you taste the stew Goodwife Germane's made. It's got those tiny little onions and everything!"

He dashed off to get some, leaving Rose to ponder all that he'd told her and all that she'd remembered. She touched the wound on her head again, more gingerly this time. All this trouble, all this fuss, from a pretty hat… Well, she'd learned her lesson, and she'd certainly be more careful next time.

She leaned back against the pillows and waited for the Doctor to return with the stew. Because, truth be told, she was hungry… ravenous, in fact. She decided that was a very good sign.

* * *

_To be fully concluded in the Epilogue…_


	9. Epilogue

Rose sat on the jump seat reading a magazine, while the Doctor tinkered on the opposite side of the console. He glanced at her often, though, pleased to see the rosiness of her cheeks and serene expression on her face.

He'd performed a detailed scan of her head and chest as soon as they were back inside the ship and had been relieved to find nothing amiss. There'd been a little tissue damage to the lungs, and of course there was the wound on her head, but he'd repaired those in no time. There appeared no long-term effects from the mind control, but in truth there was no device that could really confirm that. Oh, her brain had been undamaged, and neurological function was unimpaired, but still, it was possible—slimly, remotely possible—that a tiny kernel of influence could remain. He'd seen that before, years ago, with a powerful being called the Mara.

But Rose was strong, determined, and resilient. She'd be fine; she always was.

"So," he said just a little too jovially, "where would you like to go next?"

Rose looked up with a smile. "You pick."

"You sure? You could look through the intergalactic atlas again if you like—"

She shook her head quickly. "No thanks! I don't even want to be tempted." She stood and walked over to him, sliding her hand into his. "But thanks for taking me there; I know you didn't want to, didn't feel comfortable, an' look what happened because of it—"

"We had no way of knowing, Rose. So let's just forget it, move along, onward, upward, and outward."

"How 'bout somewhere warm an' sunny? Maybe with a beach?"

"Ooh, I know just the place!" He was already spinning one of the dials. "Pale blue sand, mauve water, and three suns."

"Hmm. I'll be right back." She hurried down the ramp.

"Hey, where're you going?"

She waved a hand toward the stand beside the door. The hat from Yquee-Mun 7 still hung from one of the pegs. "Three suns! 'M gonna need a hat—a _good_hat."

"Indeed you are." The Doctor completed the sequence as Rose disappeared through the door.

* * *

Love, Hope, and Joy, fair pleasure's smiling train,  
Hate, Fear, and Grief, the family of pain,  
These mix'd with art, and to due bounds confin'd  
Make and maintain the balance of the mind.  
-Alexander Pope, _Essay on Man_


End file.
